


just a casual, casual easy thing

by shoemaster



Category: Pod Save America (RPF)
Genre: LA era, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-03
Updated: 2017-05-03
Packaged: 2018-10-27 12:24:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10808958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shoemaster/pseuds/shoemaster
Summary: I'm not blowing you on the 405. I'll just grab an Uber.  Lyft. Whatever.Tommy is a Nice Boy and Lovett has no idea how to deal with it.





	just a casual, casual easy thing

**Author's Note:**

> boy I did not think I'd ever make these inside shipping thoughts outside ones but here we are! Thanks to quettaser and drunktuesdays for humoring me, and angelsaves, as always, for fixing my comma abuses.
> 
> And uh, standard weird small RPF disclaimers apply, keep it secret, obviously fictional, yadda yadda.
> 
> Title from Bohemian Like You by the Dandy Warhols.

Jon was still getting used to this thing with Tommy. He wasn't complaining that Tommy had chosen _him_ when it apparently came time to take his theoretical bisexuality into the applied arena. Jon got not doing it in DC, but Tommy'd been in San Francisco long enough to stretch his wings. Maybe if he'd stayed there a little while longer he would have, but instead he moved to LA, and Jon was here, and now they were here in Jon's breakfast nook the morning after hooking up for the third time in a week. It was the first time Tommy had spent the night, though, and now he was looking at Jon funny.

"What? Why are you staring at me like that?" Jon demanded. 

Tommy looked guilty as he swallowed his coffee. "I'm not - Nothing. That's a good shirt."

Jon narrowed his eyes. He'd had this shirt since his first year in the White House, back when he was still figuring out just how casual he could get in the office. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Tommy laughed. "That it's a good shirt. I like it." He rinsed his mug in the sink and put it in the dishwasher. "I've gotta go, tell Favs and Emily I'll be there around 2."

And then, with an aborted move towards Jon - probably to point out whatever he was commenting on - he was gone. That left Jon alone to spend 10 minutes staring at the shirt in the mirror, looking for whatever Tommy was talking about. 

 

"Favs! Emily!" Jon called as he let himself into their house. 

"What?" Emily called back from the office she'd claimed before her house became the foundation of a media empire.

"What's wrong with my shirt? Is there a stain I can't see? A hole?"

"You're not that much of a mess," Favs said from the table. 

"The collar is a little stretched out?" Emily offered. "And, uh, you've got a little -" she touched her neck. 

Jon immediately pulled out his phone and used the forward facing camera to spot the small hickey that was totally visible. No wonder Tommy looked so smug, he was off having brunch with former ambassadors while Jon was walking around looking like he'd been mauled by a high schooler. 

"Why the sudden fashion emergency? Did someone criticize your favorite sweatpants?"

"Oh fuck you, Favreau."

*

Jon had just taken a picture of the carpet at JFK and was trying to figure out if people still posted those to do their travel humble bragging, when a new text arrived. _Hey, did you want me to pick you up at the airport?_

He stared at his phone like it was possessed. 

_why would you do that_

_I’m flying into long beach_

Which was stupid, because had to be in Santa Monica, like, the second he landed, and traffic was going to be a pain, but his cousin’s bat mitzvah had been scheduled long before Lovett or Leave It had been on the horizon.

_I know. But you’ve got your show and we won’t get to hang out until later._

Jon snorted. _I’m not blowing you on the 405. I’ll just grab an Uber._

_Lyft. Whatever. I’ll see you at the show?_

The little dots are hanging out on the screen for a while before Tommy finally sends. _yeah, see you there_

*

Tommy was still staring at the ceiling, looking dazed and content, when Jon came back to the bed after throwing out the condom. He wasn't nervous about what Tommy might have to say, he was curious. That was all.

"That was. That was good," Tommy said.

"Don't sugar coat it for me, Tommy. We can always do it the other way." Jon wasn't eager to send Tommy fleeing back into the arms of heterosexuality. 

"I mean, yeah," Tommy said. "But this too."

With that emphatic endorsement, the noble bastard fell asleep, leaving Jon to stare at him in bafflement before he finally crawled back into bed next to him. He would have expected some sort of constructive criticism from Tommy if it wasn't as mind blowing as Jon had tried to make it. He was probably going to have carpal tunnel from stretching Tommy out in prep. Maybe he did too much? But Tommy was making those great gasping noises, with his knees pulled up to his chest, and his cheeks were all flushed, so how was Jon supposed to know he should get on with it? Still, he could have said something _earlier_ and they could have stopped! 

He had to spend an hour scrolling through his phone before he finally calmed down enough to sleep.

 

Jon panicked slightly when Tommy wasn't there when he woke up the next morning, but it only took a second to realize Pundit and her leash were missing too. The adrenaline rush on top of a crappy night's sleep meant he was feeling churlish by the time Tommy got back, though. 

"Hey," Tommy said, smiling and kicking off his shoes as he unhooked Pundit's leash. 

Looking at him with the sun behind him like some stained glass martyr in the church Favs and Emily were getting married in made Jon want to snarl. Instead he grimaced, and Tommy's face fell. "Oh god, I didn't look at Twitter yet, what happened?"

"Who even knows! What does it even matter."

"Um." Tommy hesitated. 

“Here, I made coffee.” Because at least he could do this.

“Oh, awesome. Thanks.”

“It’s the least I can do.”

*

Tommy had Jon crowded against the fridge as they kissed, making it impossible to forget that under that mild-mannered proto-diplomat was a tall drink of water with pretty impressive shoulders that Jon liked to hang on to as he pushed up against Tommy. 

But then he noticed something weird on the kitchen table. “What are those?” 

“Huh?” Tommy blinked at him before turning his head. “Oh. It’s the, uh, Laughing Lavender bouquet from Proflowers. I couldn’t use the promo code but -”

“But why?”

“I thought you’d like them?” Tommy bit his lip, which was already a little swollen. “Roses seemed a little - I don’t know. It was stupid, but you like flowers. You said you like flowers, and arranging them, and we just got rid of the last Shari’s Berries.”

“Listen, we’re all trying to lose a little weight for the wedding, OK?”

“I know? That’s why -”

“We can’t all be Jon Favreau, busting out of his button up shirts with his bulging pectorals and making it work with that stupid gapped tooth grin -”

“Should I be jealous?” Tommy just sounded amused, and ugh, Jon only liked it when people laughed at him when he _made_ them laugh at him. So he ducked out from under Tommy’s arm and moved towards the bathroom. He wasn’t storming out, he just had to go be in a room where he could close a door without it being a whole _thing_.

“Lovett? What the hell, man.”

He sighed, but didn’t say anything.

“Jon, come on. If you want to go halfsies on some berries, I’ll do it.”

Jon opened the door. “No, Favs is already going to look like a golden god next to us, probably the only reason he asked us to stand up with him. Otherwise it’d just be his brother, and he knows he’s the loser in that scenario.”

Tommy looked wary, but he still cracked a smile. “Yeah, that’s definitely why.”

*

Tommy had been acting weird all week, ever since his internal fairness meter had apparently decided he should try offering up his ass again and Jon brushed it aside. Jon hadn’t seen him this bad since the month before he moved out of DC, when Tommy’d been up to his eyeballs in classified documents and late-night phone calls while Jon bitched at him about how expensive boxes were. 

But Tommy wasn’t in charge of world peace any more, and Jon had a feeling this was actually his fault. So he got tense and waspish, which was making Tommy act like even more of an actual WASP, and it was making Jon insane. It’s not like he didn’t know this thing with Tommy had an expiration date on it, probably around the time Tommy realized he could wander into any club in WeHo, or no, more likely an art gallery, where he could pick up someone with culture. Maybe even one of the artists. 

The only good news was that it was way too close to Favs and Emily’s wedding for Tommy to add a date to the guest list, so at least Jon wouldn’t have to watch that. That’s how Jon comforted himself to sleep, when Tommy made a point to go home alone after dinner out with the happy couple.

It was hard to mope on a beautiful sunny morning with light filtering through the bougainvillea outside, but damn if Jon wasn’t going to try. He didn’t want this all to end, not the least because it was going to be awkward and terrible with the company, but Jon refused to let his own personal drama tank their burgeoning media conglomerate.

He was staring at his bagel, trying to decide if it would make more sense for him to switch with Dan on Thursdays, or if Tommy should just join the Thursday pod himself and leave Jon and Favs alone on Mondays, when his front door opened.

“Morning,” Tommy said, dropping his keys and Sox hat on the table by the door.

“Uh, hey. What are you doing here?” Jon didn’t mean for it to sound accusatory, but he knew he had a tone.

“You’ve got better bagels than Favs, and I was out of milk at home,” Tommy said, dropping into the seat across from him. “I had to get up early to let the landscapers into the back, remember? I told you about it the other day. You started making Bush jokes like it was college.”

“Hey,” Jon snapped, “those jokes were vintage.”

“Yeah, they’re probably the same ones that have been recycled since 1988. What are you so mad about, anyway?” 

“I’m not mad, you’re the one that’s mad. You’ve been pouting all week but you’re too repressed to fucking _say_ anything.” Jon wanted to kick himself. He hadn’t actually planned on setting himself up to get dumped this morning.

“What am I supposed to say, it sucks that my boyfriend doesn’t want to fuck me?”

Jon was speechless, but only for like, a second. “Are you shitting me right now? Why would I - I’m not so invested in sticking my dick up your ass that I don't notice -” he sputtered. “Hold on a second, boyfriend?”

“Yeah, whatever, you don’t like labels, but you’re one of my best friends and I really like having sex with you, so I don’t know what else to call it. Sorry if that freaks you out or whatever.”

That got Jon’s hackles up, even as a vaguely pleased feeling was trying to assert itself. “I know you’re good at keeping state secrets, Tommy, but I’m pretty sure that we’re supposed to have the same clearance level if we’re _in a relationship_.”

Tommy shot out of his seat. “I wasn’t keeping it a secret! I offered to pick you up at the airport! I bought you flowers, which you hated -”

“I did not!”

“You did, too. So I tried to play it cool, but that’s hard because _I really like you_ , asshole.”

All of the tension dropped out of Jon so fast it was like a vacuum had formed. He swore his ears popped. “You do?”

Tommy crossed his arms in front of his chest. “God help me, but yeah.”

“You really want me to fuck you again?” He was drifting across the kitchen towards Tommy.

“I told you I liked it, didn’t I?”

“You said it was good. Good, Tommy. And then you fell asleep to avoid talking about it anymore.”

“I fell asleep because I’d just had really great sex, and sorry if my vocabulary wasn’t up to your standards, Mr. Speechwriter.” 

He still sounded annoyed, but his arms had dropped to his sides, so Jon felt comfortable moving in.

“Understatement is a perfectly valid rhetorical technique, but you have to be more deft when using it.”

“Especially around an ego like yours,” Tommy said before Jon shut him up with a kiss.

“You like my ego.”

“Ehhhh, I wouldn’t go that far.”

“So about fucking you… If you actually want to do it again, I’m totally up for it.” Tommy snorted at the only kind of intentional pun. “But not like, all the time. It’s just a lot of effort and -”

Tommy covered Jon’s mouth with his own, muffling whatever else Jon had planned on saying.


End file.
